No Guarantees
by McRaider
Summary: There are no guarantees in life, no guarantees that they would go first. That he wouldn’t go first. After all, didn’t everyone see him as the weakest one? So what happens when he can't hold it together anymore? CHAPTER 8 UP!
1. Chapter 1

No Guarantees  
McRaider  
Summary: There are no guarantees in life, no guarantees that they would go first. That he wouldn't go first. After all, didn't everyone see him as the weakest one? He always held it together, he was the peacemaker, so what happens when he can't hold it together anymore.  
Author's Note: First Rent story, not my first fanfiction. It's pretty MarkCentric, but it involves all the characters and it takes place not long after the movie ends. Angel is dead, however she does make an appearance. This is not meant to be Mark/Roger slash; however it's definitely a close friendship which I suppose if you squint could be interpreted as slash.  
Rated: K+

Chapter One:

It started with a stupid argument; some days he felt that's how everything always began. After all that's how he'd met Roger in the first place; it only seemed right that's how he found himself in this position huddle in a dark corner of the alley right beside their building, grasping the side of his head that was profusely bleeding down the side of his face.

His glasses were broken; he wasn't sure where they'd disappeared to. He groaned in pain as he tried to shift on the cold wet ground again. It had started raining shortly after the muggers had decided Mark didn't have any money to takeand ran off. Leaving the blond beaten and somewhat broken in the alley desperately praying one of his friends would come back and rescue him.

The rain easily hid the tears gliding down his dirt and blood caked face. He curled his legs closer to his chest, allowing the light sobs to wrack his body. A stupid argument: Roger had growled at Mark for his nagging about the AZT, but then, Mark understood that Roger was having a hard time dealing with his AIDS; he hadn't been sleeping lately as it was. Mark wasn't oblivious to his friend's cold. Roger wouldn't admit it, but he was sick, and while Mark was fairly sure this cold wouldn't be the one to steal his best friend from him; he felt that it was important that especially nowthe musiciantook his medication.

The discussion had gone down hill from there; Roger yelling something to the effect of Mark minding his own damn business and get a real life aside from worrying about him and his stupid films. At some point, no longer able to take his best friend's yelling, Mark had slammed out of the loft, without a second thought. He'd taken a long walk in what had once been a sunny day. After nearly two hours of walking, Mark had cooled off and was heading back to their home. Leading to his current precarious position.

Where were his friends when he suddenly needed them? Whimpering he slide down onto his side, curling further around his bruised ribs and closed his eyes as his head began to spin. There were no guarantees in life…it was something people said to him all the time. Suddenly he completely understood their words.

o0o

"Where is that little shit!" hissed Roger as he kicked the trashcan across the room. Collins sighed from where he sat on the couch. It wasn't like he'd never seen one of Roger's temper tantrums, the man was a musician, it was as though these tantrums were a given for him.

"Well from the sound of it you laid into him pretty well," Mimi said; being the only one with the guts to reply. She'd heard the yelling from below in her apartment. So she hadn't been exceptionally surprised when she arrived nearly an hour later to find Roger in a state of worry over the young filmmaker.

Collins had to hide his grin as Roger rolled his eyes at Mimi's words, "Tell ya what, why don't we go out and find him," Collins wisely suggested.

"It's pourin' outside," stated Maureen from her seat near the window with Joanne.

"Yeah, and Mark's out there!" Roger growled, biting back further angry words.

"I'll be back," mumbled Collins before slipping out practically unnoticed as the others continued to argue with one another about Mark. Shaking his head Collins made his way down the stairs; he wasn't Mark's best friend by a long shot, however he was fond of the kid. Mark had a way of keeping everyone stable in the worst of times. Mark was a good guy, and one of the few that would actually survive to tell the tale of their lives.

He also knew that when Mark and Roger had a rather large argument, Mark tended to spend anywhere from two to three hours wandering around before heading back to the loft and apologize. The evening would then go back to normal after that between the two friends.

Collins easily assumed since it had been just over two hours since Cohen's disappearance and the rain had just started; that most likely Mark was smart enough to at least make his way back to the loft. Which meant where Mark was, he was probably near by.

Stepping out into the ran he looked down both sides of the street quickly before his ears picked up on the quiet sound coming from the alley way to the left. He hurried through the rain and stopped at what he saw. There on the hard ground, surrounded by a puddle of water and blood was their blonde boy. "Mark, what the hell happened?" Whispered Collins, kneeling down in the water beside the younger man.

Mark was clutching the side of his injured face, his blue eyes; filled with tears, looked up at him—obviously trying to make out the shape crouching in front of him, "Collins?" he rasped through a chocked voice.

"Yeah kid, come here," Collins didn't think twice before slipping one arm under Mark's knees and the other around his shoulders, drawing the drenched, shaking boy into his arms. "You had us worried sick," Collins mumbled as he, all too easily, lifted the twenty-four year old man into his arms and stood to his full height.

This seemed all too familiar after what had happened to Mimi. Shaking that thought from his head quickly he hurried out of the alley, still holding tightly to the shaking Mark. He made it up the stairs as quickly and safely as he could with the precious cargo in his arms. Mark was rapidly losing more blood from his temple and losing consciousness.

Roger was in mid-rant when Collins burst into the loft, causing everyone to gasp in surprise. Roger's eyes landed on the broken figure of his best friend before he jumped into action, and grabbed some blankets from the bedroom. Collins set Mark down on the couch, setting his head one of the pillows, turning it so the bloodied side was up. "Someone find a first aid kit. Mimi, call for an ambulance."

"No," moaned Mark, reaching out as he tried to stop Mimi.

"Mark stop," Collins grabbed his friend's arms and looked at the glossy blue eyes, "You could be seriously injured, and your head shouldn't be bleeding this much."

"Hey buddy," Roger came over and draped the blankets over his wet friend, "We shouldn't leave him in these wet clothes." Looking from Collins he then looked back at Mark and smiled sadly, "Sorry Mark."

"S'okay," he murmured, "Cold."

Collins nodded as he began to try and clean off the blood, he shook his head, "Head wounds bleed a lot, but not this much. Something's very wrong."

Mimi looked at them from where she now sat on the countertop, "The ambulance is on its way."

"Good," Collins replied nodding, he looked at Mark, a little worried about the amount of blood he'd lost. "Mark did they hit you anywhere else?"

Roger didn't bother waiting for an answer, he'd cared for Mark far too many times after muggings, he pulled down the blanket and lifted up Mark's shirt, revealing deep bruising lining his abdomen. Roger felt the blood drain from his face as his green eyes turned to Collins' chocolate ones. "That's not good," he mumbled.

"Lie still Mark," Collins ordered as his friend tried to move again. There was way too much blood, coming from his head and from the looks of it, internal bleeding as well. It was amazing the boy was still moving let alone conscious.

As if on cue, Mark's eyes rolled into the back of his head and lost consciousness. Roger's eyes grew wide as he suddenly gripped Mark's chin, "Mark," he prodded, trying to wake his best friend up.

"He's still alive," mumbled Collins as he continued to try and stop the bleeding.

Joanne disappeared, to lead the paramedics up the stairs, "What happened?" The young redheaded man asked as he came and knelt besides the couch.

"He was mugged in the alley way," Roger explained eyeing his friends in worry.

"He appears to have severe internal bleeding, how long ago was this?" The second medic asked as she gently prodded Mark's stomach.

Blue eyes flew open as he cried out in pain. Mark instantly tried to fight off whatever was continually causing the pain; "Its okay son, we're trying to help," the red head whispered as he gripped Mark's flailing hands.

"Maybe about twenty minutes ago," Roger complied.

The female shook her head, "This is way too much blood…Let's move him," she grabbed the back board from the bed they'd brought up the stairs.

"Mimi, call Benny," Roger spoke suddenly. As much as he hated to admit it, if something was seriously wrong with Mark then he'd need money. At this point Roger wasn't afraid to ask for the help.

"If one of you would like to accompany your friend, we've got room," the red head explained as they strapped Mark down to the stretcher.

Everyone looked over at Roger, before he grabbed his coat and hurried after the medics as they made their way down the stairs of the apartment building. He waited as they loaded the blond into the back of the ambulance, before he took a step and climbed inside. Sitting down across from the female medic, he watched as she went to work doing what Collins had been doing. "You haven't given him anything to eat or drink since you found him have you?"

Roger shook his head no, "Is he going to be all right?" finally asking the question he'd been dreading the answer to.

"It's way too soon to tell," she whispered in return.

Mark chose that moment to wake up, though bleary eyed, he glanced up at Roger; his eyes full of tears. "Rog?" he whimpered.

Reaching out with his own cold hands, Roger gripped his best friend's cold clammy hands, trying to shake off how cold his body seemed to be. "Is he supposed to be this cold?"

"He's suffering from the beginnings of hypothermia," she explained as she began to cut off the soaking clothes, throwing heated blankets over his bruised and battered body. "You said your name was Roger?"

"Yeah, and this is Mark," he replied.

She nodded, trying to offer a sympathetic smile, "I need to ask you a few standard questions. Is Mark allergic to anything, any conditions we need to know about?"

"Uh, hypoglycemia, and no I don't think he's allergic to anything."

"Good, has Mark experienced any sudden weight loss, chronic exhaustion, unexplained bleeding or bruising?"

Roger cocked an eye brow at the young paramedic, these questions weren't so standard, "No offense, but we're hungry most of the time, we live off Captain Crunch and occasionally we find good food to buy. Neither of us have the best jobs: I'm a struggling musician and he's a struggling film artist. So if there's been any weight loss I'm not exactly sure it's all that unexplainable. Exhaustion, he's been more tired than normal, but sometimes he stays out late at night and doesn't come back until the morning, so it's not exactly unexplainable either. As for bruising I don't think so, but we don't exactly look for bruises on each other. Why are you asking these questions?"

"They're just standard sir," she offered.

Roger shook his head, "No, I don't buy that. I've been in ambulances before those aren't normal questions, especially for someone who's just been mugged."

She offered another sympathetic look before sighing, "It's too soon to tell anything," she murmured before continuing work on Mark.

o0o

They arrived in the ER moments later, and Roger was pushed aside as Mark disappeared behind two large doors. He watched in the windows for a moment as a flurry of activitycrowded around the young filmmaker; before a nurse came out and led him over to the waiting room, explaining they wouldn't know anything until they got a closer look at him.

He'd never forget the look of fear he saw in Mark's eyes as they wheeled him through those doors; and the suddenly feeling that he'd caused at least some of the fear and pain. Left to his own fearful thoughts, he wandered towards one of the chairs in the waiting room, where he promptly flopped down, and buried his head within his hands. For twelve years, twelve years they'd been best friends. Closest buddies, he'd been this stupid scrawny little kid back in middle school…

_He was walking towards his house when he heard and saw the commotion up ahead. Four older boys were shoving around a much smaller kid. Roger groaned, he wasn't one to get involved, but he knew these four boys, they were Freshman at the local high school, and Roger also knew the scrawny kid they were shoving around happened to be a sixth grader. _

_Running ahead he dropped his bag to the ground and shoved one of the guys aside, "Back off!" he yelled suddenly. He'd had several run ins with these boys and he was getting tired of them pushing people around. _

_"You gonna make us pretty boy!" hissed one of the four._

_"Your dad's a cop Kawalski, so is mine, don't make me put two and two together for you," Roger shot back in anger. _

_The kid named Kawalski glared at Roger, but soon the four boys backed off and turned to walk down the road the other way. Roger rolled his eyes before turning his eyes to the boy on the ground. His nose was bloody, his eye looked to be rapidly swelling, reaching out Roger lifted the kid back to his feet, he was easily a foot shorter than Roger; he had big round wire glasses, ocean blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair. He looked to weigh all of about ninety or one hundred pounds. "Name's Roger Davis."_

_"Mark Cohen," he mumbled as he gripped his nose. _

_"Yeah…I've heard you in choir a couple times or too, you're pretty good singer. Come on, lets get you cleaned up, where's your house?"_

_"Not far."_

_"Mine's about five minutes away, we'll get you cleaned up then I'll walk you home."_

_"You're in my choir class…aren't you that guitarist?"_

_The conversation between the two boys continued like that all the way to Roger's house, then to Mark's. They talked and laughed, and what would normally seem like the world's most unlikely friendship between two boys, quickly became one of the strongest._

A hand jolted Roger from his memories, glancing up he met the chocolate brown eyes of Thomas Collins. He offered a short smile, and scooted over so his friends would all have enough room to sit down. He noticed Benny was with them, and offered a brief nod, showing his appreciation for the African American's presence. "Have you heard anything yet?" Maureen asked as she and Joanne sat down across from Mimi, Collins and Roger. Benny took a seat on the other side of Joanne.

"No, he was rushed into the ER…wow, an hour or so," Roger whispered eyeing the clock on the opposite side of the wall. Unable to believe he'd been stuck in his memories that long. Offering a pained smiled, heaccepted the offered hands of Mimi and Collins; soon the six friends had formed a long chain. Giving support, love and friendship through the only bonds, they had: a bond of family.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: If there's one thing I've learned in the ten or so years I've been writing fan fiction, it's to let a story write itself. So I can tell you here and now, this story is completely writing itself. I don't know whether Marky will live or die, I'll know within the next few chapters. And I know which I way I'm leaning but still...Also no, Marky doesn't have AIDS, sorry guys--although you'll find out what he does by the end of this chapter. Also I apologize for any medical inaccuracy at the beginning of this chapter and Mark's treatment; I'm not a nurse yet, so I don't know how'd they would treat him. Everything else about his disease comes straight from I'm glad you're all enjoying this, I wasn't actually expecting these many reviews! Thanks!

Chapter 2

It seemed like they'd been waiting for hours, as they sat and waited for something, anything from the doctors or nurses. Finally as if an answer to his prayers, a tall bulky man, with pale blue eyes and dark brown hair stepped out from behind the ER doors, he was dressed in green scrubs, and more blood than Roger was sure Mark had in his body. It was a disturbing sight, but it was obvious the man had no other option.

"Doctor?" Collins asked as he took a stand.

"I'm Doctor Beckett, are any of you relatives to Mark Cohen?"

"I'm Roger Davis, his roommate, and we're the closest things to family he has. How's Mark?"

The doctor took a deep breath and nodded, "We've stabilized him for now. We had to do an emergency operation on him to stop the internal bleeding. However, we've stopped the bleeding, we've got him on medication to slow the bleeding down and help it clot a little better. We're also pumping blood into him. We're going to keep him for a few days, we're running a battery of tests, some completely standard to make sure he has no other injuries we don't know about."

"You said some were ordinary—what are the others for?" Benny questioned.

"Roger you said?" The doctor paused at Roger's nod, "Why don't I speak with you privately, the rest of you can go in and see him for a few moments, he looks pretty banged up, but it's worse than it appears."

Mimi opened her mouth to protest, but Benny grabbed her hand tightly, sensing there was more to what the doctor wanted to say. "Come on Mimi, Roger will tell us later. Let's just go see Mark; I'm sure he could use a friend."

She paused a moment, eyeing her boyfriend, before allowing Benny and the others to lead her into the ER. Once they'd disappeared Roger turned back to the doctor and watched him quizzically for a moment, "What's wrong with my best friend?"

"We have reason to believe that Mark might be showing the early symptoms of Leukemia."

Roger felt the world suddenly fall out from under him, his heard sped up, and his breath came in harsh gasps as he was forcefully pushed into one of the chairs, his head shoved between his knees. "That's it lad, deep calming breaths," the Doctor instructed.

After a few silently gut wrenching moments, Roger raised his head and looked back at Dr. Beckett, "Leukemia? As in cancer?"

"It's a type of cancer yes; as I said we're running a battery of tests on him to determine how far along the Leukemia is and what type. There is a good chance that if we've caught it early enough; he will survive and it won't return. In the several hours I was with Mark, and the short period of time he was awake, he kept asking for you. I take it your close?"

"Probably closer than brothers," whispered Roger as he felt his eyes burning again.

"Good; Roger, I'm going to tell you this: he's going to need you now, especially; more than anyone else. I'd like you to be there for some of the tests, some are more painful than others."

"All right, when are you going to start these tests?"

"We're going to do the standard tests, including a CT scan, and an MRI on him this evening, we'll let him rest after that; maybe you or one of your friends would like to stay with him over night. Then tomorrow afternoon we'll start the other tests. He's going to be very tired and weak for awhile."

"Doctor…is my friend going to die?"

"I can't promise you anything Roger, but I can promise that I will do everything in my power to treat your friend to the best of my ability. I understand what it's like to be poor and hungry, we'll do our best. Does Mark have any siblings?"

"Yeah, he has a sister…"

"You may want to call her, there's a chance that Mark may also need a bone marrow transplant…"

"I'd prefer to ask Mark about that first. He doesn't get along with his family very well Dr. Beckett. I've known Mark since we were kids, and in the eight years we were in school together, most of the time Mark was sleeping at my house to escape his father's wrath. I'd prefer not to involve them until we have to."

"Very well, that's your decision, but if it comes down to life or death…"

Roger held up his hand, "If it comes down to that I'd drag his sister here before she knew what was happening."

"Very good. I'll leave you be for a moment, let this all sink it, I know it's a lot of information. If you or Mark have any questions, please feel free to ask. We'll be moving him to radiology shortly."

"All right, thanks Doctor," Roger sighed as he put his head in his hands. Taking a deep breath—he heard the doctor get up and walk away; giving Roger some much needed peace.

_Mark_ had _leukemia_? Somehow that just didn't sound right, as though those to things didn't go together or something. He couldn't believe it, their strong Mark, who ninety percent of the time hid behind his camera and his work. He never seemed to show his emotions, and suddenly he was faced with the similar mortality of all their other friends. Instead of AIDS he suddenly had a disease that could very well take him away before it took anyone else away. Roger felt as though his entire world, the only solid and constant thing in his life had just been kicked out from under his feet.

Closing his eyes, he said a prayer to God; to save Mark from the pain he was going to endure, the fear he was going to be facing soon. Roger felt an ache in his heart, throat and stomach. He closed his eyes, trying to push aside the thoughts of what they'd face over the course of the next several months, what they would have to face and help him with. What _he'd _have to deal with—was this God's way of paying back for the withdraw he'd gone through and hurt Mark through. Was he being forced to endure this to make up for all the pain he'd caused and now Mark was going to be causing him?

Taking a deep breath, he walked towards the ER, and took in the sigh of his unconscious best friend. Pasty white, matching the white bandages covering his abdomen and the side of his head where he'd been seriously injured; part of Roger was almost thankful that Mark had been mugged—if he hadn't been they wouldn't have found out about the possibility of the leukemia. His Marky—he wasn't sure when he'd started thinking of his best friend and roommate as his Marky. They were the best of friends; he bit his bottom lip, trying to hide the tears that were rapidly beginning to sting at the back of his eyes. He wasn't ready to lose Mark, not yet, not any time soon. He needed Mark to be around now…for as long as he had left to live.

Maureen was sitting by Mark's head, stroking his soft blonde hair as she crooned over him, getting a warning glance from Joanne who stood at the foot of the bed. Collins stood at the other side of the filmmaker's head, watching for the hazy blue eyes to open. However, chocolate eyes met Roger's emerald ones, and Collins quickly stepped to the side, giving Roger space to slip in near his best friend.

Mimi was sitting at the end of the cot, gently rubbing Mark's limp leg, While Benny stood off to the side, not wishing to intrude. Roger took up the spot Collins had previously occupied, gripping the limp hand in his. He took in the sight of all the wires running in and out of the Mark's arms. He looked like a machine of some sort.

"The doctor said they're going to keep him for a couple days," Roger explained, unsure if he should tell the others yet about the diagnosis. Deciding he'd let Mark decide when to break the news, he offered a weak smile, "I'll stay with him tonight. Maybe you guys could come tomorrow, someone stay with him tomorrow?"

"Of course man," Collins stated plainly, "We're all here to help."

A moan from the bead permeated the room, all eyes went to the blonde on the bed, "Rog," the thin lips managed to get out through a groan of pain.

"Shh, it's okay Mark," the musician gently ran his hand over the man's hair, trying to ease his pain and let him know someone who loved him was near. "We're all here buddy. Just try and relax."

The doctor conveniently chose that moment to walk into the private ER room, "All right everyone, visiting hours will be over in the next few minutes or so. You're all welcome to come back tomorrow after breakfast. Roger, if you'd like, I can take you to Mark's room, while he gets the tests."

"That'd be great Doc; could we just have one more minute?"

Dr. Beckett offered a kind, charming smile and nodded, "Of course, I'll be back in a couple minutes, take your time."

Collins moved back into his pervious position—gently placing his hand against Mark's forehead he smiled, "You get some rest man, we're gonna through you the best party you've ever seen when you get home."

Mark smiled painfully, "Thanks…Collins," he garbled, eyeing the African American with friendly eyes.

"Anytime Kid, get some sleep," without even thinking about it, Collins dropped a kiss to the younger man's forehead; and moved off so that the others could say they're goodbyes.

"We'll be back with some real food tomorrow," Joanne said pressing a kiss to her friend's cheek with a gentle smile. Mark forced another smile.

"Get better soon Pookie," Maureen ordered pressing a kiss to his hair. "We love you so much."

Mimi didn't bother with the kisses; she uncurled herself from the edge of the bed, and offered him a nice warm, gentle hug. Mark smiled a genuine smile as he turned to look at her, "Thanks," he murmured.

"Rest honey."

He nodded slowly, to avoid further pain; then watched her get off the bed. Benny was the last man to come over to his side, and grip his hand, "I know you all think I'm a complete ass, and generally I am, but anything you need man—" he paused and glanced over at Roger, seeing something in his eyes he offered a weak smile, "Anything you need just send the bills to me, it'll be handled."

"Ben…"

"I'm serious Mark, anything."

Mark gave in and nodded, seeing he was in no condition to argue with his friends. He glanced over at Roger, who remained stoic by his side as the others gave Roger a quick goodbye and headed out the doors to the ER.

"Rog?" Mark whimpered looking up at his best friend.

Roger sighed and looked down at the younger man, "We're here Mark."

"Scared."

Nodding, Roger gripped the hand in his own and forced a smile, "Remember what you told me when we found about AIDS, and after April's death?"

"Don't need to be scared when ya got me," Mark gasped between waves of pain.

"That's right, Mark, you don't need to be scared; not when you have me—not when you have us."

"Okay gentlemen, it's time to take Mark off to radiology, Roger if you'll follow me, I'll take you to the room."

"Sure, Mark, try to relax, you'll see; everything's going to be just fine," lied Roger as he squeezed the hand.

"See you soon," muttered Mark as he was wheeled away.

"Yeah—" Roger whispered, realizing this was just the beginning, nothing would ever be fine again…not for a very long time.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Still writing, may end up being longer than eight chapters at this rate, the next chappy is longer. Every thing you read in this chapter pertaining to how they treat, and test for leukemia is straight off of I think I have decided how to end this, not 100 sure yet, but I know where it's heading for sure. So...hang tight folks, bumpy rides ahead.

Chapter 3

Mark was fast asleep by the time they'd brought him back. Roger sat on the couch silently, the lights off so the patient could get some needed rest. However, his adjusted eyes watched Mark carefully, waiting for a single twitch or movement that might cause any type of pain or reaction from the man.

Lowering his head back against the couch, he closed his eyes and allowed the exhaustion to over come him; falling into a dreamless sleep.

His last thoughts were of Angel, who was hopefully watching from heaven and holding them all in his arms. They would need a guardian for this.

o0o

Morning came all too quickly for the two Bohemians. By eight that morning the Doctor popped in; Mark was staring at a try of food in front of him, while Roger perched himself at the end of the bed, eyeing what the hospital described as food. He would have sworn it had moved twice already on its own free will.

"Gentlemen, how are we feeling today?" the Doctor asked.

Roger's eyes flew to Mark, who was biting his lip to keep from saying something; no doubt something along the lines of the "we" being him and how shitty he was really feeling.

"We're fine Doc, what's up?"

"Well, you'll be happy to know that our friend here has no concussion, just a nasty set of bruises to brag about," the doctor offered smiling.

"Lovely," muttered Mark.

Roger shot his friend a quick glare at screamed "behave" before he looked back at the doctor. Beckett must have taken this as a signal to continue, because he took a breath and nodded, "We've run all the blood tests, Roger is anemic—you don't have enough red cells, and you also have a very low platelet count, which is what causes your blood to clot. As we suspected originally, you also have a very high white blood cell count. You have a type of leukemia, we're not sure which type yet, we're going to take some Bone marrow tests in a few minutes to find out exactly why type."

"I—" Mark shook his head, Roger had been kind enough to warn his best friends before the Doctor came in about the possibility of leukemia, but Mark had hoped it would be some type of fluke. "I have cancer?"

"You have a type of leukemia, like cancer it's an abnormal growth but it's in your blood rather than tissue or cells."

"Is it treatable?" Roger asked.

"It'll depend on the type of leukemia it is. Some types are very easy to treat, others aren't so easy. I'd like to take the bone marrow test now, it'll take about half an hour. Mark, I'm not going to lie to you it's tends to be a considerably painful process, what we do, is place a needle in between your fourth and fifth lumbar. If you'd like to help Mark get on his side, have him curl his legs up towards his chest and bend his head in towards his knees, he needs to stay like that for as long as possible. I'll go get what we'll need for the procedure."

Mark looked up at Roger, fear filling his eyes as he desperately tried to blink away the tears beginning to form in his eyes. "I'm scared," he whimpered again.

Roger pulled a seat over towards the bed, curling his legs under him, he looked at Mark, "Yeah, I know, but I promise I'll be right here with you the entire time," Roger whispered.

Dr. Beckett returned a few moments later, everything on a tray, he pulled a stool along with him and looked from Mark to Roger, "Ready?" he asked.

"As ready as we'll ever be," Roger replied for his best friend.

"That's all I can ask. Roger would you please place on hand behind Mark's knees, to help him keep them in that position. Your other hand by his head, to make sure he doesn't jerk. The more you move the longer this will take and the more times we'll have to do this, okay?"

"Kay," the softly reply came as Dr. Beckett untied the back of Mark's gown. Mark felt him looking over his back, until he felt something cold hit his back.

"Easy," Beckett replied feeling the tension in the young man's body, "That was the anapestic, I promise to try and make this as painless as possible son." There was a quick prick in his back, before the doctor spoke again, "That was the local, here we go, steady lad."

Roger watched as Mark bit his lip, as a long thin needle slowly dug into his lower back. "Okay guys, I'm removing the central core, if it drips, we're in your spinal canal—if not, well—let's just hope it is okay."

The musician diligently watched as this man talked them through the procedure. He gently ran his hand through Mark's hair over and over, speaking softly him as the filmmaker tried to keep his whimpers to a minimum. "You're doing good Mark," Roger whispered.

Doctor Beckett slowly removed the needle thirty minutes later, he looked at both men and offered an apologetic smile, "You may get a headache; it's advised you remain lying on your back, head slightly raised. You may also have a backache for a few days. Let us know if you need something."

"Doctor," Mark's exhausted whimper caught the man's attention. "When can I go home?" A waver was somewhat obvious in Mark's voice as he fought back tears of fear and pain.

"We're going to try and get you out of here by the end of the week. We want to make sure you're properly diagnosed, and that we get you started on a treatment that's best for you."

"Treatment?"

"You're going to need chemotherapy son, we'll get you started and regulated before you go home. Try to get some rest, both of you. We'll have the results some time this evening."

Doctor Beckett left the two men alone in the hospital room. Moving over to his best friend, Roger gently helped Mark uncurl and lie down flat on his back, causing the younger man to grimace in pain as he turned. "I'm dying."

The musician sighed and shook his head, "No, you're not dying," he gripped Mark's chin, pulling it up so their gazes would meet, "You have to stay positive—we're all dying Mark, it's not your time yet," Roger continued. "It's not our time."

"This isn't fuckin' fair," murmured the filmier.

"No, no it's not—We're going to get you through this Mark; just like you've gotten us through the past few years. It's our turn to be there for you."

"No day but today," garbled Mark as he looked up at his best friend.

Roger offered a soft smile before taking his best friend's hand again, "We should tell the others—"

"Not yet, let's make sure it's actually leukemia, before we tell them anything."

"Okay, but we can't wait too long, they have a right to know."

Mark became eerily quiet for a moment, then glanced back up at his best friend, "Did you ask why me?"

Roger smiled weakly, "I still do from time to time. You'll come to accept it—we're all dying Mark; some just faster and sooner than other's."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Joanne covered her mouth with her hand as she slipped into the room. Mark lay on the bed, his back to the door, in all his glory. Roger had left an hour ago to get washed up, So Joanne and Maureen had come to keep him company. Maureen had gotten a call and left a little over twenty minutes ago. So Joanne had left to get some food while Mark slept. Upon return she had to keep from laughing out loud.

His blankets were kicked all the way down to his feet, his hospital gown half way up his back. Shaking her head, Joanne gently put her coke and the food down on the bedside table. She then carefully pulled his gown back down and the blanket back up around his shoulders. Leaning over she gently wiped the hair from his temple and pressed a kiss to it.

When she had first met Mark three years ago, she'd wondered how in the hell he'd ever dated someone like Maureen. He was scrawny, annoying, and weird. However, as she got to know him over time she realized why everyone in their little family loved him so much.

While he did hide behind his camera so he didn't show his emotions generally, he was quite possibly the most caring and loving person Joanne had ever met, next to Angel. "God must have given us two Angels," she whispered as she ran her hand through his hair again.

Two azure colored eyes opened, to glance up at her, before he frowned, "Acute myelogenous leukemia," he mumbled before curling up further, groaning at his stiff back.

"They're sure?" she asked softly, Roger had convinced Mark to tell them the news a few days ago. That way their friends could stay and not ask any questions.

"Better be," came the sharp but quietly, annoyed response. Joanne smiled weakly; they'd taken bone marrow twice now, the first time with Roger nearby, and the second with Collins. It had been worse with Collins, simply because the area was already bruised and hurting. Mark had been in pain ever since. Her eyes fell to his arms, she was fairly sure after all the blood taken that what he had left would never flow well through his arms again with all the holes they'd put into every vein.

"I'm so sorry honey," Joanne whispered softly.

"Chemotherapy starts day after tomorrow—I'm strong enough to begin apparently. Doctor Beckett wants me to stay until Saturday. Said it could be strictly out patient—there's anti-nausea medicine they can give me; said the stuff was getting better all the time."

Joanne nodded, as soon as they'd heard about his leukemia, the friends had immediately done all they could to find out what they'd be going through. Joanne had read more information for Mark's disease than she had for AIDS, and any court cases put together. If what he was saying was true, including the type, then she knew what he was going to say next as his face became downcast.

"They don't know what causes AML—and it's also the hardest to treat. According to the information Beckett gave me; the disease is most common in children, so when adults get it; they don't do so well with the medication."

"Listen to me Mark, I know you're scared: I wish I could say I understand how you feel, but I don't; however I promise we'll be there for you."

"I keep thinking this isn't happening to me, it's just some sick joke," he mumbled softly.

"I wish it was. Mark—what did Doctor Beckett say about your sister?"

He groaned as he slowly pushed himself onto his back and looked into her eyes, "Roger and I have been discussing it, and he's calling my parents before he heads back over here. They'll bring Carley and Cindy, the doctor says one of them should be as close to a match as they can get."

"I've heard of Cindy but…"

"Carley is fifteen, she's a good kid; I just wish I could have been there more for her. She's the youngest in the family, believe it or not."

"Really," smiled Joanne, "I always saw you for the baby."

"Feelin' the love Jo," muttered Mark as he closed his eyes. "I don't want to die."

She nodded, running a hand through his head, keeping it at the base of his skull, "I know honey." There were no other words, they hadn't all quiet accepted the fact that they could lose one of the strongest links in their little family.

o0o

The next three days were pure hell for Mark and his little family; they'd started the chemotherapy—if Roger hadn't known better he would have thought Mark was going through withdraw the way he was reacting to the medication. Especially the first day and a half; Roger was fairly sure they were thirty six hours he would never forget.

Glancing up at his best friend, who was no in a blissfully medicated sleep; he allowed his mind to wander back to those first hours.

_They'd hooked up the IV drip nearly three hours ago; Roger was eyeing his best friend as Mark slowly became paler. He was sweating profusely as he gripped the side of the bed pan they'd given him. _

_Collins sat near by watching as Mark attempted to vomit his small intestines, they hadn't given him anything to eat or drink since inducing the first round of chemotherapy. "Oh this is fucking nightmare," gasped Mark between dry heaves. _

_Roger sighed as he stood by and gently wiped his friend's brow, "Can't they give him anything!" yelled Mimi in anger from watching her young friend suffer._

_"They've given all the medicine for the nausea and vomiting they can. The doctor says it should pass in a few hours."_

_"A few hours!" hissed Mimi in fury, "Look at him Roger! He's not going to survive the next few minutes, he looks terrible!" _

_"I know that!" Roger bit back. _

_Collin's solemn voice interrupted their argument, "Stop it. All we can do is keep him comfortable; the doctor told us the first round would be rough." _

Roger would never forget the sight of the machines Mark was hooked up to suddenly going haywire six hours later when his heart began to suffer due to dehydration. Friends shoved out of the room, they dropped Mark's bed so he was lying completely flat on his back and it was a flurry of activity as they pumped fluids into the body rapidly, forcing him to survive and see another day.

After that obstacle had been overcome, Doctor Beckett had explained Mark's immune system was completely shot due to the leukemia. Roger remembered the question Collins had asked, stunning them all into science.

_"Immune system? You mean like the AIDS virus wiped out ours?"_

_"Yes it's very similar to that, just like a cold or the flu could kill you, it could kill him. You need to be prepared for this, you also have to be careful, what may have only caused bruises before, could now kill him. He's anemic, which means; as you saw, what should be a simple injury for most people, could cause him to bleed to death."_

_"Doc, what are Mark's chances?" Maureen always had to be the one to ask the questions no one else wanted to know. _

_Doctor Beckett's abnormally blue eyes, glanced at all of them before he nodded, "The type of leukemia he has is one of the hardest to beat, I'm not going to sugar coat this, there's a twenty percent chance that he'll survive the next five years."_

_Roger felt his stomach hit rock bottom for yet another day as he watched Mark allow all this information to sink into his young mind. "How can we help him so that he does survive the next five years? Or even the next two?" _

_"Keep him hydrated, put some actual meat on his bones, and try to just live your normal everyday lives. That's the best I can offer you, you do your part and we'll do our part with the medication."_

This all seemed so surreal now, Mark was going to be in the hospital for another day and a half, and they'd finally gotten his medication evened out so that he wasn't throwing up everything they put into his weakened body. They'd also given him pain medication, however thus far, Mark refused to take it until the pain was too terrible to withstand.

They'd already had two rather large arguments over the pain medication, in which Mark had won both; proving that no matter how either man looked at it, both had the other wrapped around their finger.

His family was supposed to arrive shortly, and here they were; sitting in the quiet hospital room. Joanne sat on the couch, her head leaning against the arm, sleeping soundly. Mark was also fast asleep; Mimi was lying next to him on the bed, cautious of all the wires, as she gently caressed his hair. Roger was half awake watching him where there was a knock on the closed door.

Taking a long breath he moved over to the door and pulled it open, wondering who it was. He came face to face with a fifteen year old girl, bright blue eyes, identical to Mark's and short blonde hair. "ROG!" she cried in joy as she leapt into his arms.

Roger stepped out of the room and lifted the girls into his strong arms, hugging her tightly. He'd almost forgotten how much he liked Mark's youngest sister. She was a good kid, always had been. He grinned; remember how she'd always follow them around when they were little kids.

He gently placed the teenager back on the ground and looked up in time to see Mr. and Mrs. Cohen moving towards him. Emily Cohen was a kind woman. She wasn't incredibly tall, or beautiful, just the average looking mother; Mark had her eyes, and her fair skin and blonde hair. He also had her small frame. Roger could remember meeting her for the first time after he son got beaten up that day, and thinking she was quite possibly the nicest woman in the world, aside from his own mom.

Cindy Cohen, was also a fairly nice person, five years older than Mark, she was pushy and snotty when they were kids. When Mark had decided to leave home for good, Cindy had been the only one to actually support his decision. She had two small children, one was four and the other two; plus her husband Rick. Cindy looked more like her father than the other two Cohen kids. She had her father's heavier frame, and intimidating look to her.

Then there was David Cohen, Mark's father—a man that no matter how hard he tried would never redeem himself in Roger's eyes. Roger had hated this man from the first time he'd every seen the man's wrath.

_Roger jumped as the thunder cracked through the sky above, he looked over at his mother, where she was sitting on the couch. "Honey, it's just a storm," she said ever so gently._

_"I know," replied the twelve year old as he continued staring down at his homework._

_The next loud crack however, was accompanied by a loud banging at the front door. Roger eyed his mom, before he lifted himself off the couch and wandered over to the door; pulling it opened he gasped at the sight, "My God Mark!" he pulled the drenched eleven year old into his house. "MOM!" He cried for his mother as he gently steered his friend towards the bathroom. _

_Angie stepped into the bathroom and was stunned to see Roger and his new friend. Mark was placed on the toilet lit, as Roger gently dapped at the boy's swollen lip. "What happened?" she asked pushing her son aside and taking over._

_A mumbled reply she could barely make out caused her eyes to widen, "Mark, sweetheart, does your mom know you're here?" She asked gently running her hand through the child's hair._

_This was easily the second time she'd cared for the young boy of eleven. The first time she'd been horrified when her son had brought him home. She was stunned that anyone could be so cruel to such a charming little child. This time however, it wasn't a group of older kids. _

_"Prolly not," muttered the child._

_"All right, Roger sweetheart will you go get some clothes for Mark to wear, we need to get him out of the damp clothes. Then we're going to call your mother and tell her you're here."_

_"She'll be mad!" cried Mark._

_"Honey, she has the right to know why you ran out of the house. Does she know your father hits you?"_

_Roger was stunned, his eyes growing wide, he'd always thought he was the only one with an abusive father. His step father Will Davis had quickly fixed that situation, giving his mother someone happy and safe to live with. _

_"Yeah," whimpered the scrawny eleven year old. _

_Roger disappeared upstairs to get what his mother asked for, when he brought back the clothes, his mother handed them to Mark, "Here, get changed, we'll leave you alone, I'll go call your mom and tell her you're safe and you'll be staying here tonight."_

_"Kay," whispered Mark._

_Angie closed the door, so that the boy could change and headed over to the phone. Roger stood at the bathroom door, waiting for his newly found best friend to come out. _

_When the bathroom door finally opened, a teary eyed eleven year old met his face. "I'm sorry," whispered Roger._

_The tears began to rapidly fall down the boy's face, and without even thinking about it, Roger grabbed his friend in a hug, and just held him as Mark cried._

Roger had never forgotten that moment, because over the course of the next twelve years he watched as Mark went from the sweet kid who yearned to be held, and loved, to a man who hid behind his camera and tried to avoid really feeling anything. As he met the cold green eyes, Roger felt his hatred wash over him harder than ever before.

"Hello Roger," Emily greeted her son's best friend with a gentle hug.

Carley spoke up this time, "How is he?"

Roger smiled weakly, looking down at the floor, "Well he's feelin' pretty bad right now. It's been a rough few days recently; they gave him something to sleep. So—we should let him get as much sleep as he can."

"Who are you to tell us—"

Roger held up his hand, silencing Mr. Cohen's words, "I've been here for the past ten days, watching your son go through hell as they poked, pricked, and tested him. I'm the one who's been supporting him when he's throwing everything he puts in his mouth right back up. I'm the one who's spent the past three nights holding him while he's trying to sleep. This has been one long nightmare, so please just let him sleep while he can; give him a few hours of peace from reality. Go find a hotel, I'll call Doctor Beckett and let him know you're here."

"Thank you Roger," Emily whispered gently as she looked at her two daughters.

"Your welcome, I'll call you when he wakes up," Roger offered before he slipped back into the room. Closing the door behind him he looked to the bed, where he was met by weary blue eyes.

Mark smiled weakly, "Thanks," he managed before Mimi's automatic caressing sent him back into a peaceful slumber.

"Any time buddy," Roger replied as he ran his own hand through Mark's hair, and then pressed a kiss to Mimi's head. "Why don't you go get some rest sweetheart, and take Jo with you, I'll stay here."

Mimi slipped off the bed, instantly Mark began to stir. Roger slipped his hand through Mark's hair, giving the comfort the boy was suddenly yearning for again, "Shh, you're okay kiddo. If you're worried about me, send Collins, but he's going to sleep for the next several hours. It'll be really busy around here when he wakes up, he needs the sleep, we all do."

"Okay, bye sweetheart," Mimi whispered pressing her lips against his.

Roger grinned and pulled her close suddenly, allowing himself to enjoy the contact for a few moments, before she slipped out of his grip; grinning, and woke Joanne up. "Roger is sending us home."

Joanne nodded, rubbing her eyes she moved over to Mark's side. She looked down as he continued to sleep. Caressing his cheek, she pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Get some rest, and take your AZT," Joanne ordered the last part to Roger.

"I will, thanks Jo," Roger replied pressing a kiss to her cheek in return.

He watched them leave before he moved over to the bed and smiled, "Just you and me again…aren't we a pathetic pair," Roger mumbled before squeezing Mark's hand. Heading over to the couch, he grabbed his guitar which Collins had brought by earlier, and slowly began to strum some of Mark's favorite songs.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Collins pushed the door open to Mark's hospital room and grinned, Roger lay on the couch, sprawled out, sound asleep. Mark looked as though he'd just woken up, looking around to see if Roger was the only person here.

"Hey kid," greeted Collins as he moved over towards his friend.

Mark smirked, "Not a kid," he muttered as he moved to find a comfortable position. Every where seemed to hurt, looking up at Collins with desperate eyes for help, "Could…could you get a nurse?"

"Sure thing, I'll be right back."

Collins slipped back into the quiet hospital, towards the nurse's desk, "Are you Mark Cohen's nurse by chance?"

The brunette nurse shook her head, "No, but Sherry is, would you like me to page her?"

"Yeah, Mark just woke up and he's in some pain."

"All right, she'll be right in."

"Thanks ma'am." Collins slipped back into the room and looked at Mark who had moved so he was on his side, curled up facing the door. "She's on her way."

"Good—any idea when I get to leave?" he grumbled. Collins could see this was one of Mark's grumpy days.

"How does this afternoon sound," suggested Dr. Beckett as he walked in.

Roger's green eyes opened at the man's voice and he offered the good doctor a week smile. "Really?"

"Aye," the Doctor said, "The medication has evened out and regulated so you shouldn't have too many problems with it, the rest can be done out patient; including the bone marrow transplant. Your vitals are up and back to normal. I want to give you and Roger a run down of how to care for you over the course of the next several months, but I'd say after lunch you can go home, take a nice hot shower and go back to living the most normal life possible."

"I could use a shower," grinned Mark.

The doctor pulled out a couple pills, "This is for the pain. I'll give you a couple prescriptions that can hold you until your first check up with me in two weeks."

"Thanks," he whispered as he popped the two pills into his mouth and accepted the cup of water Collins was handing him.

"So, why don't I give you boys a run through of what you need to be aware of before your friends arrived. Since you two are going to help him through this.

Nodding, Collins took a seat beside Roger on the couch, and all three men settled their eyes on the Doctor who had become a friend to them over the course of the past eleven days.

"First off you need to develop a sleeping pattern, the first few days will be hard; you may find yourself sleeping at odd hours a day. Try to get eight hours of sleep at night, if you feel the need to take naps, that's fine, but you need to try and keep it as constant as life was before the diagnosis. No more Captain Crunch," the Doctor grinned cheekily at the men. "You need a decent diet, try to put on some weight, it'll be better for you in the end. If you start feeling sick nausea due to the chemotherapy, make sure you get plenty of water. If you aren't able to keep any liquids down over the course of four hours, get into the ER. Your anemic at this point Mark, so you need to be careful, as I said earlier, what was once would have caused a small bruise could cause internal bleeding and serious injuries. So be careful—no rough housing, you have to be gentle with him now. Your immune system is seriously hindered. This means you need to avoid people with colds. As you two have explained you both have AIDS, well Mark's immune system is in the same situation as yours, which means he needs to take care of himself just like you do yourselves."

"Okay, now what about the bone marrow transplants how is that going to work?" Roger spoke up, looking to see how Mark was taking all of this in.

"We take healthy bone stem cells from one of your siblings, if it matches, we then transplant it into, doing this we'll be trying to replace your red blood cells and platelets."

Collins spoke this time, "What are the chances of all of this working?"

"As I already said AML is one of the hardest types of leukemia to beat, normally adults don't respond to the therapy as well as children do. However, that's not saying it won't. In a matter of days we've already seen the decrease in white cell reproduction. That's always a good sign that maybe things will work out for the best. You need to stay positive and take care of yourself. We've got you on the strongest medication for AML."

"What are my chances?"

"Even if everything works, you probably won't survive past three years. Like I said only twenty percent make it past five years. Most aren't adults. Only about fifteen percent of the adults live past three years, and most of them—no offense—were in far better condition when they were diagnosed with this. You're a borderline anorexic, your body isn't nearly as strong as it could or should be."

"So even if the cancer does go away, how long do I have?"

Dr. Beckett sighed, "A year and half, maybe two, at the best."

"And if this doesn't work?" Collins questioned.

"Six months to a year. But that doesn't mean you should give up."

"No, we'll fight this for as many days as we're both alive. But lets face it—out of our group of seven, the chances of most of us still being alive in five years is slim," whispered Roger looking at the floor.

o0o

Maureen and Joanne arrived forty five minutes later, with Mimi; wielding McDonalds bags for everyone, "We thought you could use some real food Pookie," Maureen explained pressing a kiss to Mark's cheek as she pulled out some orange juice, and other various breakfast items.

"I can't possibly eat all of this," Mark stated looking down at the pancakes.

"Don't worry Marky, I'm sure we can help you," Roger offered as he took a bite out of Mark's pancakes. "Here try and eat some of this, it'll be a little better on your stomach," Roger said offering him one of the egg Mcmuffins.

"What happened to good ol' fashioned oatmeal," mumbled Mark as he took a bite out of the sandwich.

The five friends laughed as Mark looked down at the food, realizing how hungry he was when he took another bite, "That's our boy," Collins chimed.

"So, when do we get to bust ya outta here?" Maureen inquired.

"After lunch, the Doctor says I'm doing better."

"You're certainly looking a little better than you were when we brought you in here," laughed Joanne.

"Anything is an improvement over the bloody mess you were," Roger added.

The atmosphere was lighter than it had been in days as the six companions ate breakfast, laughed, talked quietly and enjoyed the moment they were given. Roger was right in the middle of explaining some of the things they'd have to help Mark with back home when a knock came on the door.

Mark's eyes flew to the door, then back to his roommate. Taking a deep breath, the musician slowly made his way across the room, and opened the door.

"Marky!" a blur of blonde hair flew past everyone to the side of the bed. Collins almost cried out gentle, but instantly the girl stopped by Mark's bedside and took in the sight of her big brother.

"Hey sweetie," Mark whispered as he reached out and gently ran his hand over her soft cheek. He glanced around the room, scooting over slightly, a grimacing gracing his handsome face, he patted the bed beside him, "Gentle," he murmured as she climbed onto the bed next to him and curled into his arms.

"Mark," came the all too civil tone of his father's voice. Mark's eyes shot up to meet his father's cold green ones.

"Dad," he croaked.

"Oh sweetheart," Mark's mother rushed over to his side and pressed a kiss to his bruised temple, "How do you feel?"

"I'm fine mom," he lied as he pushed himself up further, trying to hide the grimace as pain ripped through his body. He glanced up at Roger, who was glaring at the back of his dad's head.

"You don't look fine," grunted Mr. Cohen.

"Yeah, well I'm dying dad, what do you expect," The words shot out of Mark's mouth, leaving everyone in the room silence. The Bohemian's eyes were darting around the room to one another, while Carley's eyes had grown wet, Cindy had turned her face from Mark, Emily was gently running a hand through her son's hair, and Mr. Cohen just looked angry.

"You're not dying sweetheart."

"Then what is happening mom!" Mark shook his head, "Don't you get it, I've spent the past ten days in this hospital like a caged up animal. Suddenly I'm being released and forced to live a normal life again. It won't ever be normal again, because now I'm not the survivor anymore, I'm just another causality of fate!"


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: Someone asked me a medical question about why Mark would die in an allotted amount of time if the treatment--To answer the question, it's because if the medication doesn't stop the white blood cells from mulitplying then there's a rate at how fast they're multiplying and destroying the rest of Mark's platletts and red blood cells. While I don't mention this rate becuase I don't actually know how they measure it, this explains why they would be able to guess an amount of time, becuase it would be the destruction caused by the white blood count over a period of time before death. Hope I answered that at least somewhat. I'm studying to be a nurse, so hopefully I got that right lol :) Enjoy.

Chapter Six

Roger stood beside his best friend, watching as he pulled on a pair of sweat pants, his face somewhere between a grimace and disgust, "I feel so weak," he grumbled as he managed to get them over his protruding hips, hiding the bruise on his back from the two lumbar punctures.

"You look terrible. Here, put you're arms up," Roger grabbed his large hoody, and with ease helped Roger pull it over his head and chest. Mark looked like he was swimming in the damn thing, probably because he was.

He'd finally managed to convince his parents to go back to the hotel, leaving Carley with the boys, against Emily's better judgment. However, the fifteen year old refused to budge. She was now talking to Doctor Beckett about how the bone marrow procedure would be done, what she would have to do and how she should prepare for it.

Joanne and Maureen were pulling the car around; Collins was filling the prescriptions, as well as picking up AZT for Mimi and Roger. Mimi had gone ahead to get the apartment ready and try to warm it up a little.

"Roger—" Mark suddenly sat back down on the bed, Roger instantly reached for his arm, unsure if Mark had become unsteady. "Do you remember that pact we made three years ago when you found out about the AIDS?"

"The one about dying?"

"Yeah—when I promised to be with you no matter where you were and how you died, that I'd be there to hold your hand and care for you?"

Roger remembered, he'd been in the middle of withdrawal and started sobbing about dying alone, afraid and cold. Mark had been there, holding him while he cried for a few hours, Mark had made the promise as the only other living person around who cared about him.

"Roger, promise me…"

"Mark," Roger paused, he stood up and took Mark's face into his hands, smiling weakly, "I promise you no matter where, or when you die, if I'm still alive, I'll be there to hold you through the pain and the fear. You will not die alone."

Reaching out, without even thinking about it, Roger grabbed Mark's shoulder and pulled him into a hug. For a second the filmmaker was unresponsive, but it quickly wore off as he wrapped his arms equally as tight around Roger.

"Come on buddy, let's get your sister and head home."

"Seems almost right that she's around, doesn't it," Mark said, his arm around his best friend's waist, Roger's arm still strewn across his shoulders.

"Yeah, you're kid sister isn't half bad."

They grinned just as Carley rounded the corner, offering both men a smile. Roger opened his other arm, wrapping it around her thin shoulders. "Let's go home and take care of you," Roger suggested.

While Roger was worried about his best friend, he couldn't begin to say how happy he was that after eleven days they would finally be bringing Mark home. Even if Mark had leukemia, that had to mean he wasn't going to die within the next few days.

"Mark, we'll see you in a couple weeks, get plenty of rest," Doctor Beckett said shaking the young man's hand.

"Thank you for all your help Doctor Beckett."

o0o

Mark slept the whole fifteen minutes it took to get from the hospital to the loft. Roger looked at his best friend curled up next to him and had pity. Glancing at Joanne he grinned, as he easily scooped the filmmaker up in his arms, and pulled him close.

"Carley, here's a key why don't you go upstairs and see how Mimi and Collins are doing getting the place ready. Jo, Maureen thanks so much for your help—we'll call you guys if we need anything."

"Take care of pookie," Maureen called from the passenger's side of the car.

"I will, we'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, probably, take care Rog," with a soft smile, Joanne pulled the car away from the curb and drove towards their own apartment. Roger sighed; pulling the precious body balanced in his arms he carried Mark up the stairs to their top loft.

Stepping inside he was stunned to see grocery bags on the floor, as Carley helped Mimi put food in the fridge and load the cupboards. Collins came out from the bedrooms and smiled, "You're all set up, his medication is in his room, Mimi has her's and your AZT is on the countertop. You'll be good for a month; anything else you need?"

"Uh—" Roger looked around, before realizing he was still holding Mark's body in his arms. "Help me get him to the couch at least, he's exhausted."

Collins easily took the filmmaker and deposited him on the couch. Collins looked down at the youngest Bohemian. The only person younger than him was Mimi at twenty-two. Roger was five months older than Mark, then it was Maureen, Joanne and Benny, Collins was the eldest at twenty-seven.

He sighed; it was amazing how the youngest and probably one of the weakest physically, he'd also been one of the few that held them all together. Or at least he'd tried. As he'd pointed out to Roger, he'd be the one to survive.

Collins felt the air rush out of his lungs as he realized the truth—that wasn't true anymore, he was no longer the one who would survive, it was just what Mark had told his mother. He was no longer the survivor; he was now just another victim of fate.

"We're here Mark," whispered Collins as he pulled a blanket over the boy's thin form.

Once everything was put away, Collins set forth to make a decent dinner for everyone, Roger took up a seat on the couch, quickly becoming a pillow to Mark, who curled up, his head on his best friend's thigh. In the chair near the couch, Carley took up space with a smile on her face as she regaled her life back at home.

"So you're what a freshman in high school?"

Carley grinned, "Nope, I'm a junior, I skipped two grades—top student in my class too! You should hear all my teachers, always telling me I'm outdoing Mark and Cindy," she grinned widely.

Roger chuckled, she had Mark's smile, "There's no denying you're a smart kid Carley, and I certainly knew it. I know, I thought you were smart when you took apart the toaster when you were five."

"Put it back together too," came Mark's mumble from Roger's thigh.

"Hey there sunshine," chuckled Roger as he rubbed his friend's back.

"Have to go to the bathroom," he muttered as he slowly sat up. Roger watched him closely, waiting for a sign that the reason he needed to go wasn't to pee.

"You okay?"

"Uh huh," mumbled Mark, slowly standing he made his way slowly to the bathroom. Proving just how "okay" he really was.

"Roger—" Carley waited until the guitarist's green eyes were on hers, "I want to stay here until he dies."

"Sweet heart that could be year—"

"Roger, you know as well as I do," she whispered gently, "Please let me stay until he goes. I haven't seen him I six years, I miss my brother—I've only got a little longer left."

"Carley you're always welcome here honey, I won't kick you out, but I'm not going to fight with your father over it, understood?"

"Yeah," she replied softly. She looked at Roger quietly and smiled.

"Dinner's up boys, Carley you get to cook breakfast," Collins called as he dished out what looked like spaghetti with meatballs.

"Those aren't meatless balls are they?" questioned Roger as he moved over to the table, he grinned as Carley hopped up on one of the stools.

"Meatless balls—ew."

Roger nodded, "That's what I said."

"It tastes the same," Collins defended.

"If you close your eyes," returned Mark as he joined them by the table. He looked down at the food, "Seriously though?"

"They're meatballs, now eat, shrimp—you're already skinny."

"So how goes school?" Mark asked, rapidly changing the subject to his baby sister.

Collins and Roger shared a quick look, perhaps somewhere between thankfulness, and sorrow.

"It's okay, busy—Mom told you I was a junior now right?"

"She might have mentioned it--the one time I answered the phone; yeah," grinned Mark.

"They don't hate you Mark; Mom misses you so much."

"She's not the reason I left Carley."

"I know; but Dad's mellowed out…at least a little anyway."

"He never hit you or Cindy; I wouldn't expect him to. Carley I'm not the boy he wanted; he wanted a reincarnation of him."

"Yeah, but he still loves you, somewhere inside I know he loves you."

Roger and Collins were eyeing their food as they slowly continued to eat. Mark glanced at Carley and forced a soft smile, "How about tomorrow you and I go out—get a little filming in, maybe get a cup of coffee?"

"Mark are you sure that's such a—" the glare Mark shot his best friend quickly silenced the musician.

"They said I could live a normal life Roger, my normal life is filming. If I'm dyin—" Mark paused, looking down at the food in front of him, he'd barely eaten any of it. "She'll be with me the entire time. If I get too tired we'll just head back home."

"Mark, you just got out of the hospital today…"

"I'm not going to spend the last days of my life cooped up in this stupid loft!"

Collins' eyes grew wide, as did Roger's as he suddenly glared at his best friend, "Why? Because it's safe here! You're safer here!" he yelled.

"Is that what kept you inside for practically a year?"

"Excuse me!" Growled Roger.

"You spent an entire year after your diagnosis, cooped up here! Why because it's safe! It's no safer in here than it is out there!"

"You know what, fine you wanna go out tomorrow fine! But when you come back exhausted and in pain, don't complain because I don't wanna hear it!" without another word Roger pushed away from the table and slammed his bedroom door behind his retreating figure.

Mark looked back down at his food, then up at Collins' meekly, "Thanks for dinner Collins, but I'm not hungry anymore," mumbled Mark as he slowly stood up and made his way over to his own bedroom. Closing the door much softer behind him.

"I'm sorry Carley, they're not normally like this," Collins apologized as he removed the two plates from the table and put them in the fridge.

"Its okay, do you mind if I just, go to bed, I'm a little tired."

"Go ahead, sleep well Carley."

o0o

Collins lay on the couch, wide awake, it was nearing two in the morning when he heard the creek of a door, he shook his head; there was only one door in the entire loft that had a creek. Seconds later he heard a knock and heard another door open.

"Roger?" came the soft whisper.

Collins smiled, that was just the way his two boys were, no matter who was around; they always ran to each other.

"Come on in Mark, what's wrong?" Collins could hear concern evident in the whisper from the darkened room.

"Can't sleep—I'm sorry I yelled."

"Come here," Roger offered.

Without a second thought, Mark slipped under the covers, seconds later he was spooned against his best friend. Roger smiled as he wrapped his over protective arms. "You're safe now Mark."

"Always safe with you," muttered Mark as he began to drift into sleep again.

"Yes you are," replied Roger, as he pulled the smaller man closer. He felt tears sting his eyes as he held a body that could very well not be there forever. "I only protect you because I can't live without you."

"Now you know how I feel on a daily basis," mumbled Mark softly.

"I'm sorry I hurt you Mark, it's all my fault—"

"No, you didn't do anything, not like you gave me the leukemia. Either way though, you're forgiven. Roger—"

"Yeah?" came the mumbled from behind him.

"Would you like to join us on our walk tomorrow?"

Roger smiled and pulled the frail body closer, "Mark, promise me you won't spend whatever time you have left looking through your camera."

"Then promise me you won't miss me."

"I can't do that Mark, I'll miss everyone when they die, but I've known you since we were just stupid little kids. I'll miss you more than you'll ever know. You're my best friend; no one will ever be able to replace you."

"It's weird—knowing that I'm probably going first now."

"You're really rather somber about it."

"I'm terrified about it—I've just gotten past the whole denying part, and I can't blame anyone so I'm can't be angry about it. So at the moment, I've accepted it. Roger, don't cry for very long over me."

"You realize I might be right behind you in dying."

"You should live, as long as you can."

"I'm not ready to give up on us just yet buddy."

"I know—but if I do die…don't cry for long; and don't shut everyone out. They're going to need someone to be the wall—grieve but be there for them too."

"When did you get so damn cocky," chuckled Roger from behind his friend.

"Rog."

"Are you ever going to sleep?" Roger grumbled as he leaned his head against Mark's shoulder, trying to drift off to sleep.

"Just one more thing—"

"You're not dying tonight Mark…"

"I know, but—look," Mark paused, turning around in his friend's arms he looked straight into the deep green eyes, "I don't want to die in the hospital, I wanna die here: In your arms, or in Collins' arms. No hospitals, if I die, I want it to be with all of my friends—my real family around me."

Roger sighed, and gently touched Mark's cheek, "I promise you that you won't die in a hospital and you won't die alone."

"Night Rog," whispered Mark finally as his eyes slid closed.

"Night Marky, I love ya little brother," leaning forward slightly; Roger pressed a kiss to the soft forehead and smiled.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

**Three months Later**

Death, it seemed like such a constraint, Mark sat in front of his camera with a sad smile on his face as he started the camera, "Hey guys, it's Mark—obviously. Listen uh, if you're watching this, it's because I've died. For starters—I'm sorry." He paused and looked down at the floor, it had been one month and seven days since Doctor Beckett had broken the news, the chemotherapy hadn't worked, and the bone marrow transplants weren't working.

Mark had sadly announced to his friends two days later that he was terminal; he had less than six months to live. It didn't seem fair. He'd gone through what the doctor had called the five stages of coping with death.

Denial had come right after Carson Beckett had broken to him that he had cancer, it struck back twice as hard for several days after he was told he was terminal. He'd bargained with Doctor Beckett for hours, begging him to find a way to help him survive; at least until Roger died so that Roger wouldn't die alone.

Depression had set in a very long time ago, with mood swings as different as hot to cold. Roger had been forced to deal with every single moment of the swings. Anger had never really come to Mark; he couldn't be angry at anyone—he just saw it as God's cruel way of making sure Mark didn't go last.

The only problem was; now Mark feared his best friend would be the last to go, and Roger wouldn't handle that well. He hid everything from everyone.

After his final diagnosis; Mark had spent three days with his family, trying desperately to make up with his father; which sadly had only ended in an argument. David had instantly packed his family up and taken them back to Scarsdale, however Carley had fought tooth and nail, Emily relented long before David; she'd handed both children money and told them to call when the funeral came.

Mark couldn't remember his mother ever really crying like she had as she'd bid her only son a goodbye—

_Emily's deep blue eyes searched her son's as though looking into his soul. Her hands placed on each side of his handsome face as she gently rubbed his cheeks, "I—I've made my fair share of mistakes Marcus and I don't deny them. I should have stood up for you when you were a little boy."_

_"No mom, don't do this—don't do this to me and please mom don't do this to yourself," whimpered Mark as he looked at his mother._

_She had tears dripping down her cheeks but she shook her head, "I'm so very proud of you; I don't tell you that very often, but sweetheart—you're my little boy. I wish I had been like most mothers and as close to you as I am with your sisters. I feel like I've lost something—some part of me. Did I tell you how happy I was when I finally got pregnant with you?"_

_Mark shook his head, sensing his mother needed to get this off her chest, she pulled him down onto his old couch, and squeezed his hands, "I wasn't supposed to be able to have children, I had two miscarriages before your sister Cindy. And another one just before you—then I got pregnant with you, the doctor's held little hope for you. I didn't gain a single pound until the six month point, when I put on four or five pounds. I was terrified; I was eating healthy and everything. The Doctors had bedridden me for fear I wouldn't follow through on you. I went into labor with you a month and two weeks early—I've never seen your father as scared as I did the night you were born. No one though you would live, you were a breech; the cord was around your neck. You were almost born dead. But—after a few moments," she paused, composing her now shaking voice, she looked back up into the mirror image of her eyes, "You finally let out high pitched cry, everyone thought you'd be a little girl. So when they handed me this tiny little body and said it was a boy—Marky, I nearly sobbed. I had the little boy I'd wanted forever. I instantly looked at you and knew you were a Mark. You were four pounds and two ounces."_

_Mark's mother had never told him this, he was sure part of it was so they could be a little big closer, "No one thought you would live to see a week. I knew you would—do you know why?" Mark shook his head before she continued, "I looked into these tiny blue eyes and I saw something that you could only have gotten from your dad; determination. I knew you would survive. And you did, not just that but you were out of the hospital within three days of birth having gained enough weight to leave."_

_"I didn't leave because of you mom," whimpered Mark as he tried to wipe his tears away._

_"I know baby; you left because you were scared and needed to get away from your father. I don't know when he went so wrong, or why he focused on you as a target, but I promise you that while he may have buried his feelings for you; he loved you so much as a baby. It wasn't always like this; he used to play with you all the time."_

_"I remember good day's mom," Mark replied softly._

_"Good, I don't want you to die thinking your father always hated you, or that I was always as weak as I am now."_

_Mark shook his head, touching her cheek, "You're not weak; I never thought that."_

_"Yes you did, but you had every right baby. I—I can't make up for the past twenty wasted years, but I can tell you how proud of you I am. No matter what or who you are, I'm so very proud of you and who you've become. Your father wants to leave, I wish I could stay and get to know my little boy better—take care of Carley; she misses you so dearly; the time she spends with you will be good for her. Maybe she'll learn from you."_

_"You realize she may quite school if she hangs out here too long," Laughed Mark guiltily._

_"I won't lie that I want her to continue school, but I'll make you a deal; that little girl is just as smart as you—we'll get her into school here in New York; it wouldn't hurt to be with her friends for as long as possible. She'll stay as long as she likes; as long as she's in some type of schooling."_

_"I love you mom," he cried as he grabbed her into a hug._

_"I adore you too sweetie," she rubbed his back comfortingly, hoping to bestow some love on him that he hadn't felt for so much of his young life time. _

_"Goodbye mom."_

He would never forget the look of utter loss and disappointment on her and Cindy's faces as David Cohen forced them to walk out of the apartment and leave behind the one person they wanted nothing more than to know and love.

No one had really cried when he'd told them he was dying. Deep down, Mark was fairly sure they'd all seen it coming. Even Mark had known he was going to die; from the moment they'd taken the first bone marrow test, he'd known all along. He couldn't explain it, but something just told him he was doomed.

"Anyway, I guess you could call this my last will and testament, but it's a lot more than that—each of you has a video; just for you. I hope you like them, and will keep them near to you. Collins: you're first, my friend, and my big brother—you've always protected me when I needed it the most, and the words of wisdom you and Angel gave me—are things I will carry with me to the grave. I can't leave you much, except my video Today 4 U, it was inspired purely by Angel, and I couldn't have made it without her, you deserve to have a memory of both of us. Know one thing Collins, no matter how well I hide it, I loved Angel, and will miss her and you. You were great friends. I'll tell her I said 'hi' if I get there first."

Mark sighed, he hadn't realized how hard this would really be, taking another deep breath he continued, "Maureen—you've—" he smiled ruefully, "I love you, always did; there isn't much I can give you that I haven't already. So I'll give you this, you've got passion inside of you, a side that few people have seen. Stay with Joanne, and if you haven't already, show her that side of you. Let her know that you can be as loving and cute as you'd like to be. Take care of yourself Maureen, and don't ever lose the love for acting you have. It'll take you so much further than where you are today. Joanne, when I first met you—well I hated you, and part of me felt bad that you'd be forced to go through what I'd gone through, but getting to know you was one of the best things I've ever had the honor of doing. You're a strong woman, and while you deserve someone ten times better than Maureen, I think you two will stay together because you, like her, have so much love to offer. I'm leaving you both my screen plays, maybe you guys can find something special in them. I love you both."

He stopped, Mimi, Roger and his baby sister were the only people left to do the videos for. "Mimi, you're bright, smart and beautiful. Roger may not want to admit it, but he's going to be hurting, he'll need you there; please take care of him for me as long as you can. I'm leaving you my half of the apartment, be with Roger, he needs you."

"Carley, I love you, you're a wonderful baby sister; I'm giving you the thing that is quite possibly the most dear to me in the entire world, my camera. Mom said you could stay here as long as you'd like, help them deal with this blow, take my camera and make me proud, I know you can."

"Roger—" Mark stopped, feeling tears filling his eyes, what do you tell your best friend to help the pain go away. Standing up he gently turned the camera and shut it off. Not knowing where or how to begin, he felt tears cloud his vision as he thought of the fear he'd had when he learned he'd be the only one to survive. Now everyone else would have to duke it out for the position of last to survive. "I'm sorry," Mark cried sudenly. Thankful no one was in the loft, he collasped back to the couch and sobbed, letting all his anger, fear and frustrations come out.

"Hang in there baby," came the soft words from across the room. Mark looked up, his eyes leveling on someone who had been dead for a long time.

"You...you can't be here," he whispered.

"I'm here Mark, and I'll be here the whole time for you. They'll survive--yes it'll be very hard, but they'll survive without you. Accept death before it comes and takes you away," Angel said gently as she offered a smile to the filmmaker.

"I'm not ready to accept death."

"You have time, don't close yourself off to all possibilites baby; and tell Roger what you've always wanted to tell him. He'll thank you in the end."

"Al--Alright. Angel, we miss you."

"We'll see one another again honey."

With that she disappeared, leaving Mark alone in the empty apartment to think of the words Angel had just said to him. Looking back at the camera he turned it back on, then took a seat, "Hey Rog--"


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: Grab a box of tissues. Okay last chapter here folks, enjoy--also keep an eye out for my next story which is called Meant To Be, should be coming either this weekend or Monday sometime. Already five chapters into it and going strong. It's not affliated with this stroy whatsoever, but it's a happier story :) Also Markcentric.

Chapter Eight  
**Six Months Later**

It had all begun with a sore throat, that quickly blew up into what could only be described as a full fledge flu, sending Mark to the hospital for nearly five days. He'd stayed relatively healthy and safe since his death sentence.

He'd let it start as a cold and continue to mount as a soon to be deadly virus that wouldn't go away. He'd spent four days at home that he should have been in the hospital. Roger was by his side the entire time. Wiping his sweat covered brow, talking to him, trying to keep food and water in the dehydrated man's stomach.

Their other friends popped in and out constantly, helping care for the dying filmmaker, as he slowly began to slip from their grasps. It wasn't until Roger felt the fever ravish his friend's body that was so high he didn't see it coming down, that he called for an ambulance; landing the blonde friend in the hospital for the next five days.

Even as Mark lay in the hospital bed, his immune system desperately fighting off a simply case of the flu, he knew this was the end. It was nearing midnight, Roger was sitting in a chair next to Mark's bed gripping his best friend's hand; when Mark finally spoke up, "Rog," he murmured. Green eyes met his, "Take me home."

"You're not health—"

"Roger, I'm dying, this is it, I want to go home, please; you promised me," whimpered Mark as he looked at his best friend.

Roger sighed, he'd seen this coming. He remember the promise he'd made to his best friend just over nine months ago. Truth was, Mark had defied all logic as he reached his twenty-fourth birthday less than six weeks ago. No one had thought he'd see another one. Roger had hoped maybe Mark would see man more, but it just wouldn't happen.

"All right Mark, I'll take you home," he whispered softly, knowing this wasn't a battle he'd win in the end.

o0o

It had taken four hours to convince Dr. Beckett to release him, get all the medications and the set up they'd need to take him home, and finally to arrive back at the loft. Roger watched as Collins helped Mark wobble weakly over to the couch, where Mark would live out the final days of his life.

Roger felt his heart constricting, so much he wanted to say; and he had the feeling most of it would be left unsaid. "Carley, you wanna get some soup?"

"Sure," she whispered. It hadn't been an easy road for her either; she'd been around for nine months to watch her brother suffer through a terrible disease.

He scrubbed at his eyes as he made his way over to the couch and sat down beside Mark, "How ya feelin' kid?"

"Like shit, you?" murmured Mark as he rolled on his side and lifted up his head, allowing Roger to slip under him so he could use Roger's thigh as a pillow. It had become a habit for them, Roger had been there every step of the way, helping with the pain, the tears and the fears.

The number of nights the two had spent up all night talking was a testimony to how close the two had become recently. Mark was thankful to have Roger around to help him through the fear he was dealing with.

"Not feeling to good myself. Did you want me to call anyone?"

"Maureen, Jo, Mimi, they should all be here, Benny too," replied Mark as he curled around Roger's leg.

"How's the pain?"

"Sucks, I can handle it," he lied.

"Mark—there's so much I want to tell you," whispered Roger.

"Me too," Mark stopped, unsure what to say, closing his eyes he hoped he'd find the words, instead he drifted off to sleep as Roger continue to run his hand through Mark's soft blonde hair.

o0o

Carley and Collins were fast asleep in their rooms. Maureen, Joanne and Mimi were downstairs in Mimi's apartment; When Roger came into the living room, he saw the projector set up, where'd it been before they'd rushed Mark to the hospital nearly a week ago.

Sighing he flipped it on, curious to see what his friend had been working on. As the screen came alive it struck Roger, that this would be the last film Mark would ever make. He gaped when Mark sat in front of the camera, forcing a weak smile, "Hey Rog—" Roger glanced back down at the sleeping figure on the couch, the back up at the face on the screen. The blue eyes filled with tears before Mark continued, "There's so much to say, and I wish I could tell you everything, but the least I can do is give you this. The past twelve years with you—have been twelve of the best years of my life. I think back on your life only with the fondest memories and the utmost love for you."

Roger felt tears sting his eyes, the filmmaker continued, "I've made a lot of mistakes, and I guess one of the biggest ones, was telling you the truth. When I first met you, you were easily the best friend I'd ever had. I don't have many in the first place. But then it became a brother and hero worship love…now—Roger I feel only comfort when I'm with you, comfort—I guess what I'm saying is…I'm sorry I wasted so much, time but you deserve to know that I love you. Far more than I ever thought possible to love anyone. I should have told you a long time ago, but frankly I think we all assume we'll be here longer than we planned. Anyway, I'm leaving this message to you to tell you—don't lose your faith, I know you'll miss me, but I don't have any doubt that I'll see you again, then we'll be together forever. I'm leaving you all of my possessions but the ones mentioned in the will, most of all I leave you my scarf and the constant reminder to take your AZT. Take care of yourself Roger, and I promise I'll be waiting for you."

Roger felt tears coursing down his face, he turned to look down at the frail figure in the couch. "Why?" he sobbed as he lowered his head into his hands. He suddenly felt a hand on his back, turning his rapidly swelling eyes he faced beautiful blue eyes. Eyes he had long since fallen for.

"Because you should know everything," whispered Mark as he reached out.

Roger pulled his best friend into a hug, "God, Mark—I loved you too, so much. I wish we hadn't wasted time. What am I going to do without you?"

It was Mark's turn to hold his best friend as Roger sobbed on his shoulder, unsure how to handle this sudden epiphany. Mark just held fast, his own tears beginning to fall, as he realized this was indeed the end. "I'm dying, I can feel it," whispered Mark as he gripped his best friend.

"I know—"

"No, I mean—Roger, I'm dying now, it hurts," whimpered Mark looking into the green eyes before him.

"COLLINS!" Roger screamed as he grasped Mark close to him. The professor came hurrying out and saw Mark leaning heavily against Roger, gasping for air.

"Carley wake up, I'll go get the girls!" Collins yelled as he hurried down the stairs.

"Please just hold me, I'm cold," whimpered Mark as he gripped Roger through another wave of pain.

Roger hadn't even realized the others, including Benny; were now crowded into the loft, within feet from the couch. Roger spread Mark out, so that he wouldn't be in pain. Slipping behind Mark's back he held tight to the dying man.

Roger shook his head, curled up on the edge of the couch as he clutched Mark close to him, rocking back and for ever so gently. The others were crowded around them. Maureen had tears streaming down her face.

Joanne was shaking her head in denial, Mimi and Collins clutching to each other for support, even Benny had his hands on Carley's shoulders as they all watched Mark slip a little further away.

"Hold on Mark, please right, I should have told you, I love you too," cried Roger as he held the filmmaker close.

"Rog," croaked Mark, turning his blue eyes to Roger's emerald ones. "Love—ya," he whimpered

"There is no future—there is no past," Collins began lightly. Everyone suddenly stared at him.

"There's Only Us," the others continued, as they tried to hold back the sobs that were threatening to fall from their mouths.

There's Only This  
Forget Regret Or Life Is Yours To Miss  
No Other Road No Other Way  
No Day But Today  
I Can't Control  
My Destiny  
I Trust My Soul  
My Only Goal  
Is Just To Be

Without You  
The Hand Gropes  
The Ear Hears  
The Pulse Beats  
Life Goes On  
But I'm Gone  
Cause I Die  
Without You  
I Die Without You  
I Die Without You

No Day But Today  
Will I Lose My Dignity  
Will Someone Care  
Will I Wake Tomorrow  
From This Nightmare  
There's Only Now  
There's Only Here  
Give In To Love  
Or Live In Fear  
No Other Path  
No Other Way  
No Day But Today  
No Day But Today  
No Day But Today  
No Day But Today

"I love you, God I love you," cried Roger, pressing his face into the blonde's soft hair.

He felt the last shuddering breath sweep through Mark's body, he felt Mark grip his arm one last time, before his body ceased to move.

"God, no," whimpered Roger as he rocked back and forth, the others watching helpless, "Please—I'm not ready yet," he sobbed.

Maureen turned to Joanne, and the two cried on one another's shoulders, Collins turned Mimi around and held fast to her as she sobbed into his chest. Carley turned against Benny, allowing him to hold her.

"You're not alone now Mark, now you're with Angel," Roger sniffled pressing a kiss to Mark's forehead. "I'll miss you so much—"

o0o

Mark stood in the corner, watching as Roger sobbed, he turned, feeling a hand on his shoulder and offered a short sad smile to Angel, "He'll be okay honey," she whispered as she wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "They all will be."

"Who's going to hold and care for him at the end now?"

"We'll be there baby, I was here the entire time you went through it all. Come on, let's go home."

"I've missed having you around Angel," Mark whispered as he wrapped an arm around her waist.

"I've always been here honey."

Mark turned back for a moment, looking at Roger, "I love ya Roger, I'll see you on the other side."

Carley gently took the camera in her hands, and held it close, watching as Roger continued to rock the lifeless form of her brother. She reached out and swiped a tear from her cheeks. He didn't want her to cry, she would give him that. She couldn't deprive him one of his last wishes.

"You'll live on Mark," she whispered as she was pulled closer to Benny.

Author's Note: I'm sorry this was so depressing...however on an up note, I'm going to write more stories that won't be nearly as depressing or death filled. Thank you for reading :)


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